


Glory be to meatball surgery...?

by nightofdean



Series: bitter news [1]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Child Death, Crisis of Faith, Gen, lots of talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightofdean/pseuds/nightofdean
Summary: A miracle is what happens when God answers prayers, but not all prayers are meant to be answered. Not all miracles are auspicious visitations from the Madonna and child, or healings, sometimes they are killings.
Series: bitter news [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140974
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Glory be to meatball surgery...?

**Author's Note:**

> i think this wins as meanest thing i've done to the good padre

At the edge of the compound he takes a deep breath, inhaling the taste of rain on the breeze. He looks down studies his hands, can hear children playing at the center of the compound and the amused exasperation of Sister Theresa chasing after the little ones.

In just a few hours Francis had a funeral to plan.

“Ah, thought, I’d find you here.”

“It is an unusually nice day today,” said Sidney, as a peel of laughter drifted toward them as they watched the children run in playful circles.

“I suppose it is, though God chose a dreadful day to bless us with such nice weather.”

Sidney put his hands in his pockets, a careful look of concern pinched his brows together. Francis usually did not begrudge his god for simple things like clear skies during miserable events, otherwise Sidney feared he’d be at it all day.

“That may be exactly why,” Sidney said, “a sign of some sort,” tilting his head he could see Francis watching the children playing.

Sidney followed the line of sight, looking also – across from them, sitting on crates and chairs, a few soldiers also watched – he could see the Sisters playing ball with the orphans. Francis watched them looking utterly lost, eyes following the movement of the Sisters and orphans as they played.

“There are no such signs,” said Francis, round mouth pulled down, he sighed, “I looked.”

All Sidney could do was watch as a breeze played in the air, and the green trees and canvas fluttered and shook.

Francis looked up, almost as if against his will, “I prayed you know.”

Sidney said nothing in response, if Francis was providing this on his own.

“I prayed that night, oh I prayed, in that orphanage as the bombs fell,” he said, and looked at Sidney.

Sidney nearly gasped, only letting out a gust of breath, at the pained expression on Francis’ face. A commotion sounded from the ball game and he almost jumped as the basketball bounced their way, and Francis picked it up.

“Father, this way,” said a smiling nun, holding up her hands to catch it.

Father Mulcahy smiled back and threw it into her waiting hands.

“Thank you, Father,” she shouted.

“Anytime, Sister,” he said, and turned back to Sidney, “why don’t we sit?”

They sat on the edge of a nearby crate, Sidney desperately wanted to hear the rest of what Francis had begun to talk about but waited in silence. Watching the nuns now playing basketball, the orphans now entertained by the nurses.

They sat transfixed, until Francis’ quite voice broke the spell.

“That night I was terrified out of my wits, which is why I prayed, oh how I prayed – but not to the saints or martyrs – there wasn’t time for intercession. I was terrified so I prayed, to Him, I prayed to the Holy Father,” said Francis’ and he looked up, expression a mixture of grief and despair.

Sidney felt a pit in his stomach, though they hadn’t voiced it, this felt very similar to a session. A confession.

Sidney averted his eyes, one of the nuns made a basket.

“I said God, we need to speak _now. Now._ I said, we need to speak about the orphans of the world. About _these orphans_ here, now, in Sister Theresa’s orphanage – now she’s a good nun, an excellent nun, but we need to talk about the orphans. I said God, we need to talk about this war, about these bombs falling right now. And then I said, no, I _told_ Him. I told God; don’t you dare drop those bombs on this orphanage. Not _these_ orphans, not now, not ever. Not them, not them, and I repeated it.

“Not them, not them, not them, and eventually I said, not us, them, not us, them. Not us. Them. And I repeated it, over and over, until it happened.”

By the time he finished, Francis was looking upwards, eyes closed. A moment of silence passed between them, Sidney struggling to understand what he’d been told. What it meant for Francis.

“Do you understand?” asked Francis’ looking at Sidney, almost pleadingly.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Sidney, the prayer all of it, sounded like too much.

Francis’ gaze stared ahead, back at the nuns playing basketball, “It means I killed that boy.”

Sidney startled, blinking, “No, no, you can’t.”

“You’re right, I know, it wasn’t me, but I was the one that prayed for it. Asked, not us, _them._ ”

Sidney didn’t know what to say, this went beyond his ability, a crisis like this was one meant for another priest.

“I guess what I mean to say is,” Francis sighed, looking at Sidney, “I’m beginning to have doubts. Or rather, I have no doubts, and my faith is stronger than ever, but not in God, not in Him.”

Francis’ massaged his knuckles, and looked upwards at the clears sky, “What I have is faith in myself. God didn’t save the orphans and nuns, I did.”

“What are you saying, Father?” said Sidney, wanting clarification for what he already knew, heart plunging to his feet. To hear something like this from someone he cared for, felt immense, it was as if he was hearing his own devout parents declare they would no longer celebrate the holy days.

“I am saying -” Francis’ began and was interrupted by the rubber ping of a basketball bouncing toward them, and landing at his feet. Francis smiled genially, but strained as he picked it up, “Another time, perhaps, Doctor?”

He nodded stiffly, head spinning, still digesting what Francis had told him.

Sidney watched as Francis walked toward the basketball court, threw the ball underhanded toward the hoop and missed. Sister Theresa laughed, and tossed the ball back and continued to play what looked like a game of horse.


End file.
